


Tell Me What You Want

by PrincessOfTheDark (FantasyPrincess)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag: S01E11, M/M, Masterbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyPrincess/pseuds/PrincessOfTheDark
Summary: While John is recovering from a gun shot wound, Harold has to pick up the slack on the legwork.  This new found relationship dynamic, propels some hidden feelings out of the shadows and into the light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill in / Alternate ending for "Super" episode. Finch also sets up Reese's loft in this fic, instead of the end of Season 1. I was hoping to write more voyeurism fics for this fandom. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know if you have any bunnies I can chase!

“And,” he opened the box with a mild flourish, “A little housewarming gift!” Harold presented John with a large, soft, round pillow made of high grade memory foam.

John blinked at it, swallowing. “… Thanks.” He couldn’t tell if Harold was pulling a joke or genuinely trying to make him feel better.

Holding out the gift, Harold shook it a little. “Want to try it now?”

“N-No, I’m good,” he said, clearing his throat.

Harold paused, letting the pillow drop to his side. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, moving to put it away, his limp a little more agitated than it had been a moment ago,

John fished out the pain killers the doctor had given him. He swallowed one and grabbed for a glass of water. “So, tell me about this guy Trask,” he said, scratching at his temple and eyeing the gift box.

Harold had set up the entire apartment with state of the art surveillance equipment. John watched as the computer genius brought on feed after feed of security footage from nearly every camera in the building, including feeds from private apartments.

“This is kind of like your Machine, Finch.”

“I suppose,” Harold said, burying his nose in his keyboard, “If one apartment building were the entire world.” His eyes flitted to John’s face, as if meeting a challenge to his pride, and held John’s gaze.

John nodded slightly, and Harold relented, typing in the last of the security code. He hadn’t noticed he was holding his breath, which he let out in a barely audible sigh. He did his best to stare at a point on the ceiling while Harold fiddled with more wires and monitors. John tapped the arm of his wheelchair, telling himself it wasn’t wrong to check out the color of Finch’s vest and how well he filled it, or the way his ass looked in the perfectly tailored suit.

The pit of his stomach dropped when Harold had to lean over him to hook up something on the table, his steady breath ghosting over John’s neck, and without intending to, he tensed. If Harold noticed, he didn’t let on. He kept doing whatever it was that he was doing, and letting the scent of his cologne, nothing special but still memorable, blanket John in a perfect cocoon of bliss.

John wasn’t fully aware of his senses, only that he was too close to Harold, and moved his chair slightly back after a mumbled apology from the other man.

He’d only realized he had strong feelings for his aggravating, but morally splendid and perfectly angular partner, after a medically induced fever dream. Bullet wounds were standard issue, as was the surgery to remove them, but the euphoria from this particular medication induced a reaction that was all together new to him. While recovering in a little used wing of a hospital, he imagined Harold’s voice clearly in his head...

 _Drink this water, slowly. Take your medicine. Don’t get up, you can’t walk yet. Ask quietly for help, they’ll hear you …_  He imagined Harold watching him from a half-lit doorway in the hospital room. _Unbutton your shirt, John. Slowly. Touch yourself, John. That’s it, John, carefully._

He hadn’t cum that hard since the first-time Kara strapped him to a bed and teased him into submission. He imagined Harold praising him and caressing his neck.

Sucking in a breath, he wheeled far enough away to only faintly smell a linger of Harold’s scent, and turned to face the window, clenching his jaw as he tried to calm himself.

They spent the afternoon surveilling Trask, but all the cameras’ information left them little to go on. Harold had ordered Chinese, Orange Chicken was added to the order, which John found surprising, with his usual pork lo mein and duck sauce dripping off his chin. Harold leant forward to wipe it away, and John’s eyes glazed over. Harold seemed unaffected and John swallowed, returning his attention to his meal.

Soon they were both sitting and eating, methodically watching the feeds to alert one another of deviant behavior. Occasionally one of them would look at the other as they leaned down for another mouthful. They rarely talked about anything except work, and with their current occupation being so dull, the silence was deafening.

“Do you want some more tea?” Harold said, clearing his throat and pouring himself a cup from the electric kettle he kept by John’s bedside. John smirked but shook his head.

He was keeping a tally of the things that Harold was doing to make his life easier. First it had been this apartment, but soon John realized it wasn’t just the books that Harold had brought over. It was the comfortable high grade wheelchair with the remote-control in a side pocket for the television, stereo and electric blinds. It was the shower chair and the additional mirror and ablution kit in the bathroom within easy reach.

Harold also seemed to be doting on him, and John tried very hard to dismiss the little butterflies in his stomach every time Harold anticipated his needs, or brought him something without being asked.

He popped a pain killer and Harold sat abruptly at his meal. “Is it unbearable, Mr. Reese?” he said, turning to look at him.

No matter how hard he tried to maintain his composure, the expert marksman always relaxed at the sound of his name on Harold’s lips. It felt like a full minute before he realized Harold was staring at him. He’d asked a question John didn’t even hear. He raised his eyebrows and gave a little “mm?” in response.

“Your wounds,” Harold gestured with his fork. “Is the pain unbearable?”

“Not at all,” he said briskly, “I’ve had to endure much worse.” Harold winced and John’s jaw worked. He put down his chopsticks. “What I meant to say was, you’re giving me exactly what I need, Finch, keeping me busy, or… trying to.” John managed a smile while his mind unbiddenly rummaged through how they could spend their downtime. Waiting for the new number to actually do anything worthy of all this surveillance felt like torture when he could have his hands all over Harold’s body, but he kept those ideas to himself for the time being. He absently picked at his napkin.

Harold’s mouth quirked. “You should try the pillow.” Reese rolled his eyes and went back to his dim sum, secretly glad that Harold was joking with him and not suspecting what was on his mind.

The time inevitably came for more leg work to be done. In order to ensure they were working in Mr. Trask’s best interests, one of them would need to go out of the apartment. Harold shouldn’t be underestimated, and he often knew what he was doing. This was, at the moment, a milk run. John knew it meant the possibility of putting Harold in danger, but at the same time, he was desperate for some alone time. Harold’s hovering was delightfully suffocating, but did nothing to quell the erection in his pants.

Finally, he told Harold the time had come for some good old fashioned legwork, gesturing helplessly to his chair and looking as much like an invalid as he could.

Harold straightened. “Right,” he said, a little forlornly.

John let himself believe it was because Harold was genuinely sad to leave him and not just the work ahead. He assured Harold that everything would be alright. After promising again and again to not push too much, to take it slowly, and yes to dress his wounds and clean them, he tried his best not to fidget as his perfect little nerd left the apartment.

No sooner than he heard the door clicking shut, did John unzip his pants and free his very stiff cock. He panted with relief just from the cool breeze on him, and gently took himself in hand.

“Oh, Harold,” he groaned. The pain medication was softening his senses, but this act was white hot in his mind. He moved, timidly, as he imagined his partner would at first, and then experimented with different strokes on the head, lightly at first and then bolder.

 _Do you like that John,_ Came the voice in his head again.

“Yes, Harold.” John said aloud.

_Good, I like watching you, I like seeing how you react, it’s fascinating," the voice was becoming urgent in his mind. "I like how you look when you abandon yourself to me. Do you like it, John?_

“You,” he said, is hand getting faster as he heard Harold’s voice, quieter, more intimately in his ear. “You keep me alive, Harold. You take care of me.” He smiled to himself at the tease, but tensed his hand anyway, like he knew Harold would.

_That’s not an answer, John – Do. You. Like. It… John?_

He pulsed his fingers, testing until he was almost in pain, “Yes, yes I like it. I like it when you tell me what to do. There’s nothing I’d rather – “He gripped himself hard and pumped furiously.

_Nothing else you’d rather I do?_

“Yes Harold, please, tell me, tell me what you want,” he rasped, turning his head, his whole-body tensing. The pain in his side increased from a dull ache to a throbbing, but he didn’t care. His hand was giving him long sure strokes; firmer, harder, faster and then slower, bringing him to brink that he knew Harold would not be able to resist.

_I want you to cum for me, Mr. Reese. I want you to cum so hard you can’t even see straight. Do you hear me, Mr. Reese?_

John nodded, still with his head turned. He was so close, he pumped faster.

_Do it for me now, Mr. Reese._

“Mr. Reese?” Harold’s real voice, clinical and methodical was suddenly, surprisingly, in John’s ear.

It was enough to push him over the edge. John couldn’t stop if he wanted to and he came fast and hard. He held himself tightly and covered his mouth with his other hand so Harold wouldn’t hear him. Harold spoke again, “Mr. Reese? I’m in position.”

John grunted, _In position, Finch? Really?_ , came the thought as the last aftershock moved through him. He grunted an assent at the other man and told him to sit tight for a moment.

“I imagine it’s harder to get around now,” came the sympathetic reply. “You’ve got time John, don’t hurry.” John sighed and whined to himself, as he made his way to the bathroom with his hammer.

He was used to having split focus, since his years in the Gulf war, and as an assassin for the CIA, usually with one or two objectives to keep in mind, but he couldn’t seem to let go of the idea of Harold now having to trust him and tell him which way to go. His body betraying the very serious thing they were trying to do.

“I feel like a rat in a maze,” Harold said, turning a corner. John was smirking to himself, stroking again absently for the constant feel of pressure he just couldn’t shake. He was keeping a close eye on Trask, but he was going in the wrong direction, so the danger was momentarily evaded.

There was a security guard in the hallway. John tensed, dropping himself. He heard Trask over the radio giving Harold’s description to this guy.

“Just walk on passed him, Finch, nothing to worry about.” John switched screens to double check what the guard had been doing in that particular apartment.

Harold was sweating and John was only mildly aware that he was in danger. He needed to get his head back in the game, he thought, as he shook off the scattered thoughts of mouths and hands and skin on skin. “He’s the thief,” John said, breathily. “I’m sending you the proof you need now.”

As soon as he didn’t need it anymore, his other hand went back to his cock and he held himself, sighing loudly. He was watching his beloved Harold resist being caught and he gave the screen a toothy smile when the other smaller man simply walked away.

He grunted.

“Mr. Reese, are you all right?” Harold asked.

John blinked, trying to clear his head. “Of course, why do you ask, Finch?” He couldn’t possibly be this close just from Harold’s question, could he?

“It’s just that you sound different. I’m coming up.”

John bit back a curse. “You can’t Finch, not while Trask is due back here any minute.” John protested, reluctantly cleaning himself and zipping up his pants. He hastily washed his hands in the sink and wheeled back out into the Livingroom of the apartment. Trask did eventually arrive back, with the extra wrench, without letting on at all that Harold had escaped, and went to work on the tap.

John sourly watched him work.

Thankfully he was done quickly, and John couldn’t help it, he left a hand down his pants to barely graze himself occasionally. He was lost in the sensations and he wasn’t sure how long it would be till he was back in control. _Better to make the best of it,_ came the calm imaginary voice of his partner

*

Harold waited in a stairwell for Trask to leave the apartment. He was shifting his weight, though he tried to remain as still as possible. He sighed. _What if John needs you,_ he thought bitterly. _You can’t even outrun a superintendent!_ Harold bit on his finger instead of sighing, not wanting to draw attention, just in case.

When Trask left, it took Harold everything he had to get back to the apartment quickly but quietly, so that no one heard his approach. He managed to push open the door and gently close it behind him. He heard a sigh and scuffling in the main room and headed in.

He almost called out John’s name, but was shocked into silence by what he saw.

John was on the bed, propped up on the pillows and naked from the waist down. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Harold was impressed that John could undress so quickly after Trask had left. But everything paled to a distant understanding compared to the huge penis John was caressing in his lap.

What must have been seconds felt like time stretching forever in front of him.

Harold nearly fell over when he realized he was _watching, no, staring_  at him, but had the forethought to grip the wall and move a few paces back. He leaned against the corner of the wall, now completely out of John’s sight. He should leave, he thought. _But what if John hears the door opening._ He stood there, telling himself he wasn’t listening and craning his neck to hear more, insisting that his eyes weren’t huge and his eyebrows weren’t raised because of the sounds coming from the bed, the squeaking and groaning of the box spring had nothing to do with why he was still in the apartment. He felt his stomach do a backflip when John let out a particularly ragged sigh.

He shut his eyes, finally trying to think clearly. _This is wrong, Harold, you need to leave right now!_ He told himself. He wanted to move, but couldn’t, his feet growing heavy roots. Soon he could hear his own ragged breathing, so he put his hand over his mouth.

His member stirred between his legs when he realized John couldn’t hear him because he was talking to himself. “Yes, yes please,” he was panting. “What do you need? What can I do for you?” More creaking from the bed and shouts and groans from John. Harold had to have one last look, just one, _to make sure the stitches weren’t out,_ he told himself.

He peaked slowly around the corner and got a full view of John’s large manhood, pumping quickly in his expert hands. Harold caught the glimpse he told himself he needed, remembering to actually check the bandage and make sure it was fresh, and then just the way he’d come in, quietly left.

Harold knocked ten minutes later, making sure John was ready to receive him. He curtly moved through the apartment, checking things and making sure everything was as it should be. He asked if John was hungry, if there was anything he needed, because it looked like he’d have to follow Lilly around and make sure that Trask stayed away.

John’s face was unreadable. If Harold didn’t know what he’d been doing just a moment before, he never would have.

Harold was desperately trying not to blush and stumble over his words.

“You alright Harold? I know that was a close call, but you made it out ok,” John said, watching him with those soulful eyes.

“Perfectly fine, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, attempting to ignore how formal he’d become. Gathering up his things, he left the apartment and breathed deeply, trying to get air back into his lungs. Lilly was leaving, he had to focus.

*

At the restaurant where Lilly worked, Harold was charmed by her easy smile and the dazzling menu. He ordered and waited after his phone call with Fusco for the food to arrive. He drummed his fingers on the table. He watched the other patrons, smirking inwardly, and wondering what thoughts John has on stake outs like this.

 _John, I should check up on him,_ Harold thought, as he reached for his phone to call him properly. John was supposed to be tailing Trask, or as much of a tail as he could manage.

Without really meaning to, he activated the private speaker he’d hid on the coat of John’s suit.  He didn't realize what he was going until the open line was a little fizzier than it should have been. _Just making sure he’s not going to get caught in flagrante delicto. There’s nothing wrong with making sure he’s safe without violating his privacy._

After the line connected, Harold couldn’t hear much, but then came John’s unique sigh and the snap of a camera shutter. Harold felt like he was listening to John with new ears as the images of his body, prostrate on the bed, flooded his senses. They’d been working together for a few months now and, of course, Harold had an eye on him before this. Harold listened, his eyes going softer as he imagined John’s mouth, a thin line of concentration as he watched Trask go about his daily life. There was a shuffling, and Harold imagined John caressing his collar and making sure his pockets were straight. A sound like his hand running through his beautiful grey hair was unmistakable. Harold smirked to himself, actually allowing his lips to curl into a smile as he brought one hand under the table and pulled it across his crotch.

That involuntary motion made him stop abruptly. _No, no, he can’t know I’m listening now, this isn’t really invading his privacy, I’m trying to make sure I’m NOT invading his…_ His head snapped to attention. _He doesn’t_ know _I’m listening,_ he thought to himself, and forced himself to end the call. He gasped for a minute. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

Regardless of what Harold was doing for John’s safety and what privacy actually was in this circumstance, the fact that he, Harold, was hard in a public restaurant was undeniably true. He’d never been in to public sexual acts, they didn’t hold anything for him, yet the stiffness between his legs was proving difficult to subside.  Finally, he managed to quiet himself as best he could. He was beet red when his food arrived at the table. Lilly gave him a nod and a smile, thankfully unaware of the bulge in his trousers.

Deciding it was safe, Harold took a few deep breaths and called John properly to discussed any new developments. There weren’t too many to speak of and the two men ended the conversation quickly.

Harold wanted to tap in to the speaker again but he dare not.

*

The events of the day played out tensely but inevitably in their favor. Rick was put away and Trask was a local hero. John and Herald slipped into the shadows, leaving the scene of a good day, as the police did their jobs.

“Well, Finch,” John said, as they limped along, Harold in his way, John on his crutches. “I guess it’s back to the hotel for me.”

“There is one more thing,” Harold fished in his jacket pocket. “Go to this address, and get some much-needed rest, you won’t regret it,” he said, eyebrows raised.

John took the parcel and before he could investigate it further, Harold was already half way down the block. He did as he was instructed, and entered the spacious apartment at 810 Baxter Street. His closets were full of finely tailored suits and the fridge was fully stocked. He smiled to himself and stripped down to take the most luxurious shower he’d had in weeks.

*

Harold told himself that he would only put cameras in the common areas. John’s kitchen, his living room / dining area. Nothing in the bedroom or bathroom… except a small black and white camera hidden in the light fixture in the hallway between his bedroom and bathroom… and speakers in the mirrors in each room. Harold felt like a traitor putting them in and was constantly telling himself he would never look unless it was in the strictest of urgent circumstances… and he wanted to believe that.

*

John toweled off and was all smiles. He downed another pain killer, a glass of water and then spread out on the bed. He moved carefully, enjoying the fluffy softness of Harold’s high end taste. The mattress was like a cloud and he melted into it.

“Thank you, Harold,” he sighed into the pillow.

Halfway across town, Harold was sitting in his library, the lights turned low and all of the camera feeds on, including the two microphones. “You’re welcome, Mr. Reese.”

He blinked at the screens. _No activity in the rooms. The bedroom mic is active, he must be on the bed judging by sounds._ Harold shifted in his chair, leaning back.

“Oh, you’ve got such exquisite taste,” John said, sinking further into the bed. He rubbed his face on the pillow and curled up, as much as he could with his injury, under the covers.

“Why, thank you, John, I’m glad you like it,” Harold couldn’t help but smile with pride. He hadn’t expected John to "talk to him" quite this much, but he was glad to have brightened his spirits. He kept hearing rustling as John seemed to not quite get comfortable.

“Oh, Finch,” John said, moving the coverlet over his body and pressing it down between his legs. He groaned and shifted, not entirely able to be on his stomach, but adjusted the pillows so he could be somewhat upright and still enjoy the silken fluffy sheets. Everything smelled of spices and spirits, but refined and distilled. He breathed deeply and sighed, “Harold, what do you want me to do in your bed?”

Harold sat bolt upright. “Mr. Reese?” No answer, just more rustling and moaning. Harold’s mind raced. _Did he know? That was impossible, how could he possibly know, that’s absurd, and yet…_

“Oh, Finch! Do you want me to break in this bed?” He positioned himself near the top of the bed and ran his hands up and down his chest, around his stomach and over his legs. “Is that what you want me to do? Can I touch myself yet Finch? Please, may I?” he keened, not touching his cock yet, not quite yet. His sighs were getting louder.

More rustling. Harold clenched his desk chair. He was breathing heavily. He could hear John whimpering, and calling out to him, without realizing he was listening to every word. Harold shut his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted, he kept telling himself. But if it wasn’t what he wanted, why was his heart beating so fast? Why was his cock straining under his suit and he could feel it pressing up against his zipper?

“Yes.” Harold blurted out. “Yes, John. Touch yourself. Touch with me listening to you, please, I’d love to hear the sound of that.” Harold sounded desperate to himself. He didn’t like to sound weak, not like that. He took a deep breath and tried again.  “Touch yourself, John.”

“Harold, please,” came John’s voice, loud and clear.

Harold took in a stuttering breath. “Yes, John, I’m here. Go ahead. Touch, stroke it for me.”

They both let out a sigh.  Johns’ hands finally connected with his cock. He let out a guttural moan as he pumped slowly and Harold gripped his crotch above his pants, releasing a shout himself.

“Oh god, Finch, I’m so hard, I don’t think I’ll last,” John said through gritted teeth.

“You can do it, John,” Harold yelped, trying his best to undo his trousers and release his own throbbing erection. Finally, he was free and he tried to be gentle with himself, it had been so long, but he couldn’t resist the sounds John was making, so he gripped even hard. “Just a little longer, Mr. Reese, hold it just a little.”

“Yes, Harold, yes, please do that,” John said into the room.

Harold laughed, “Oh you precious animal,” he said into the empty room of whirring computers. “You want me to tell you want to do?” Harold calmed his breathing and pulled on himself long and slow. “Slow strokes, John,” he was shaking. He said the words, knowing John couldn’t hear him, but realizing John was imagining his voice and him talking. It was too good not to respond. It had been so long since he’d done this, he didn’t have long to wait for completion either. “Push it harder, Mr. Reese.”

Harold could hear more rustling and the distinct sound of flesh slapping flesh. “Please, Finch, I can’t –“

“You can, John, I know you can,” Harold pump faster. “Just a little more, Mr. Reese. Just – A little –“

John came hard in the sheets of his new bed, writhing and panting, his body sleek from water and sweat. Harold came too, his body jerking and moving in spasms. His back ached from the twitching but it didn’t matter. He’d never had a climax like this and the more John groaned, the more his body shook.

The two of them lay prone and smiling. John was laughing into a pillow.

“That was amazing, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, gently tugging on his cock as the twitching finally subsided. He tried to sit up but it wasn’t working so he stayed put, smiling, his glasses askew.

John groaned, rolling over onto his side. “I have to tell him,” John moaned into the pillow.

Harold swallowed, still listening. The flush was slowly leaving his face. He waved his hand and finally hit the right button on the keyboard that shut off the audio. He sighed and tried to catch his breath. “Sleep well, Mr. Reese. Perhaps we will one day have that chat.”


End file.
